Miss Anne, of her own will, cut short by three months their intended length of stay abroad. She had seen how heavy was the burden of responsibility which this fatal descent placed upon Rose. In fact, to be alone with a woman like Anne was good only if the younger person had intervals of other companionship. Anne made a too strong call upon the apprehending intellect to be as a constancy good for a growing girl, and her matchless cynicism in talk, which found no representation in her acts, was tempting as an example and easily capable of misapprehension.
This long stay with Anne had been for Rose a severe test of character and even of physical power. Without altogether realizing the true cause of her rebound into unusual joyousness, she distinctly felt the relief of her new surroundings.
“There is the brook, Rose,” said Ned. “We’ll fish, and build a big fire, and cook our own fish.”
They were now above the clearings, and on the far side of the river.
“What canoe is that up the stream, near the far shore?” she asked.
“It’s Mr. Carington’s. He’s took a bit of water ’bove Mr. Lyndsay’s upper pool. It ain’t much good.”
“You are sure it is Mr. Carington?”
“I don’t rightly know. It’s too far.”
After this they went ashore on a broad beach, through which a quick run of brown water from the swamps inland found its way out to the main river.
Rose took a book and sat down, while the boys cast for trout at the mouth of the brook. After a while the twins tired of this and set to work to build a fire on the higher rise of the shore, while Tom cleaned the fish they had captured. By and by came Ned and sat down with his sister. Now and then he called her attention to a salmon, or, at intervals, asked Rose questions not always easy of answer. At last he said, “There is a spring back in the woods,—comes out of the hollow of a big, old balm of Gilead. I found it.”